


Winning Strategy

by tklivory



Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition - Cullrian [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Iron Bull Shenanigans, Iron Matchmaker, M/M, Matchmaking, Sexual Tension, Surprise Kissing, Thrown Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/pseuds/tklivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian Pavus doesn't quite know what to expect when he wakes up half-naked in a strange bed with a pounding headache next to the devastatingly handsome Lion of Ferelden, but it doesn't take long to figure out what's going on. The question, of course, is what is he going to do about it? What he wants to do, or what he should do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One-Eyed Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheLadyMagician](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyMagician/gifts).



> Written for a Tumblr Prompt by commander-amatus:
> 
> ::iron bull flirting with Dorian all like, “I know what you NEED” so he sets him up on a date with Cullen::

The first thing Dorian became aware of was the pounding in his head. With a soft groan, he brought his hand up to massage his temples, cursing quietly in Tevene when that just made everything _worse._ Letting his hand drop down again, he felt it land on something, a lump beneath the blanket that wasn’t _him_ , and he frowned. His hand shifted, grasping whatever lay beneath the cloth, but only managed to elicit a muffled groan before the lump moved away. A puzzle, and one his mind wasn’t quite ready to handle.

_Maker. What happened last night?_

His hand stole back to his own body, cautiously feeling down his torso.  _No shirt, but pants still firmly in place._ That, and the way his body  _felt,_ let him know that whatever had happened, sex had not been involved.  _Pity._ Brows furrowing together, he finally dragged his eyes open and turned his head, wincing as the sunlight hit his eyes.

_Sunlight? There’s no window near my bed._

He started and pushed himself up into a sitting position, looking around wildly.  _“Kaffas.”_ It was the only way he could react as he looked up at the gaping hole in the roof above the bed he was in, then down - and  _down_ \- to the floor far beneath that. He  _knew_ this place, and it  _certainly_ wasn’t a place he’d expected to find himself short of a Maker be-damned miracle.

_I certainly don’t_ feel _miraculous._

Slowly he turned his head, wincing internally in anticipation as he began to pick out the details of the other occupant of the bed. Tall, blond, and, oh, also half-naked of course.  _Naturally. And likely he was just as willing as I_ .Again Dorian swore softly, then abruptly clutched his head as pain made it pound, a muffled groan escaping his lips. He froze when the man next to him stirred.

_No, no, no, I didn’t want it_ this _way!_

Slowly Cullen opened his eyes, which widened even further when they saw who sat next to him in bed. “Dorian?”

“Commander,” Dorian said politely, trying for dignity despite his semi-clothed state.

“Should I ask what you’re doing in my quarters?” He frowned. “In my  _bed?”_

“I assure you, once I have put together the pieces of the puzzle, Commander, I shall--” Suddenly Dorian paused, and the frown returned in full force. “Bull.”

“Pardon?” Cullen asked as he slowly sat up. “Maker’s breath, did someone hit my head with a maul last night?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Dorian muttered darkly.

Cullen gave him a confused look. “Put what past whom?”

“As I said before, Commander,” Dorian said as he turned in the bed and dangled his feet in preparation for leaving it, “it has to be Iron Buaaahhh!”

The last rather undignified sound was made when his questing feet sought, but didn’t find, a floor to land upon. He felt a strong arm hook around his shoulder and haul him back up onto the bed, and for a moment he simply lay there, panting as the adrenaline shock rushed through him at how close he’d come to plummeting twenty feet straight down.

“Did he actually move my bed to the edge?” Cullen demanded.

Sharply reminded of the man’s presence outside the near disaster of falling to certain pain, Dorian paused as he realized two things. One, Cullen was making no move to separate them, and two… well, two was that this close, it was  _very_ obvious that Cullen wore full armor every day. Dorian chanced a peek at the arm that had pulled him back from the precipice, admiring the sight of chiseled, taut muscle while he had the chance. “It…” His voice cracked slightly, and Dorian frowned.  _Wonderful impression._ Clearing his throat, he said, “It would appear he did. I will also bet you five gold that your ladder is mysteriously missing.”

Cullen’s face drew into a fierce scowl. Heaving Dorian further up onto the bed, he finally let go of the mage and crawled to the foot of the bed to peer down. “I owe you five gold,” he said dourly.

“Yes, of course,” Dorian muttered, a bit distracted by the view Cullen was presenting. Whatever one could say of warriors, Dorian had to admit that all that armor did  _wonders_ for shaping perfect backsides.

“Someone could have been hurt,” Cullen continued, turning back to Dorian, whose gaze snapped up quickly. “And how are we supposed to get down?”

“It’s not an impossible distance. Surely a broken leg or two won’t put too much of a crimp in your daily schedule, Commander,” Dorian offered with a winsome smile.

Cullen gave him an odd look before simply shaking his head, then winced and rubbed his face. “So… we wake up with hangovers, in  _my_ bed, with no means to get down, and no memory of how we got here. I can’t think this is accidental.”

Dorian’s face darkened again. “I think I know where this all began.”

“Do you? Enlighten me, please,” Cullen said. Pointing to the door, he said, “I need to be out there, not stuck up here with you. No offense.”

“None taken, Commander.” Dorian sighed and fell back onto the bed. “Especially since I think this might all be my fault. Well, and Bull’s.”

“Naturally,” Cullen said in a resigned tone. “Well, don’t leave it there. Explain what you mean.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “It began with an argument.”

* * *

_“Veshante kaffas!”_ Dorian exclaimed, rubbing his face. “I asked you  _politely_ to move out of the way. Honestly, a lummox like you shouldn’t even  _be_ in the library.”

Iron Bull laughed, his pectorals alternating as they flexed for Dorian’s attention. “I’m just waiting for you to rub yourself up against me using that pretense of wanting a different book,” he said with a grin. “C’mon, admit it, you haven’t been able to take your eyes off me ever since I came up here.”

“Mostly because I’m astonished you know how to read,” Dorian said acidly. “Now if you would please just--”

“Nah, that’s not it,” Iron Bull insisted. “You like watching the pec pop of love.”

Making a disgusted noise, Dorian buried his face in his hand. “I assure you that is the  _farthest_ thing from my mind.” When he looked up, he started back a bit as he found that Iron Bull had moved closer. “Honestly, you--”

“I,” Iron Bull said, voice getting lower as he edged into Dorian’s  _very_ personal space, “know  _exactly_ what you need.”

Clearing his throat, Dorian managed to say, “It is  _certainly_ not you.”

Iron Bull’s lips spread into a slow smile, but before he could respond, an impatient voice said, “Could you  _please_ get out of my way, Bull? I need to speak with Leliana.”

Both men blinked and turned to where Cullen stood, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. Iron Bull stepped back with a nod, and they watched Cullen walk past with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head. Dorian didn’t turn his attention back to Iron Bull after Cullen had passed, at least, not until Iron Bull muttered, “Damn.”

“What is it, you Seheron oaf?” Dorian asked, irritation in his voice.

“I really  _do_ know exactly what you need,” Iron Bull said, then turned to look just as Cullen disappeared up the stairwell, a speculative look in his eye.


	2. Never Trust a Rogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cullen slowly piece together what happened to put them up on their perch with no apparent method of escape, adding another name to the list of suspects.

“That is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard,” Cullen declared flatly, interrupting Dorian’s recitation of events. “You weren’t _arguing_ with Bull, you were _flirting._ We’ve all seen you two go at it.”

Dorian sat up, headache surging even as he leveled a haughty glare at the Commander. “I have _never,”_ he declared, “flirted with that beast in my _life.”_ Granted, by this point it had eased into a nicely friendly rivalry between Qun and Vint, but Cullen obviously hadn’t picked up on that part.

“Oh, please,” Cullen said, his chin lowering so he could give Dorian a good and proper glare, though why he would be _angry_ about the flirting was something upon which Dorian could only speculate. “I saw the way you were staring at that outrageous… _thing_ he did with his chest. You couldn’t take your eyes of it.”

Dorian opened his mouth to speak, then paused, considering what Cullen had said. “Commander,” he said in an amused tone. “If you were standing there watching us for that long, why did you wait until Iron Bull got close to me before you interfered?”

Cullen cleared his throat. “I was looking for-- I had to find-- Look, that’s not important.” Turning away, the warrior pushed off the bed - after double-checking to make sure that Iron Bull hadn’t somehow made the platform _itself_ smaller - and headed to a small storage chest nestled in the corner. “I think I left a rope in here in case the ladder ever detached,” he said briskly.

Free to smirk with Cullen’s back turned to him, Dorian settled onto his side on the bed, head propped up on his hand. “I bet you ten gold that it’s not only gone, but that he left a note in its place,” he commented just before Cullen lifted the lid.

“Don’t be absurd,” Cullen protested. “How would he--”

Dorian tilted his head when Cullen abruptly stopped talking. “How could he be clever enough to anticipate you’d have a backup to the ladder and look for it, or enough of a smart-ass to leave a note to drive the point home? Why, I have no idea, Commander. Perhaps I’m completely wrong about him.”

When Cullen stood and turned with a folded piece of paper in his hand, Dorian couldn’t help but grin broadly. His reaction changed, however, when Cullen opened the note and read the words aloud in an irritated voice. _“Hope you don’t mind I took your secret backdoor, Commander. I’ll let the Vint claim the other one.”_

Dorian’s smile vanished, and he quickly faked a cough to cover up the heat in his ears. When he’d recovered his aplomb, he forced a smile at Cullen and said, “I believe that’s fifteen gold you owe me now, Commander.”

“You must have known about this ahead of time,” Cullen accused.

“Oh, yes, I do so enjoy plummeting to certain pain,” Dorian said, glanced over his shoulder to his near mishap. “Wouldn’t miss crutches for all the world. I’m sure Vivienne could find _some_ way to make them _stylish.”_

With a sigh, Cullen sat on the bed again. “So, what, Bull takes it into his head we’re _interested_ and arranges this little kidnapping?” He winced and rubbed at his forehead, and Dorian frowned.

“Are you sweating?” he asked, concerned. “It’s really not that hot, even with the sun blasting in from that gaping hole in your roof.”

“No, no, it’s nothing.” Cullen dismissed the question with a gesture. “So what are we going to do?”

Recognizing a deflection didn’t particularly make Dorian willing to go along with it, but there was something in Cullen’s insistence that struck a chord. This wasn’t a preference, but a need _not_ to talk about it. _Fair enough._ “I don’t think he would go so far as to put poisoned caltrops on the ground below. Perhaps you could lower me down and I could fetch a ladder.”

“Why you first?” Cullen asked, even as he crawled to the foot of the bed on hands and knees again and looked down.

“Ah--” Distracted once more by the sight of those nicely rounded buttocks, Dorian tilted his head and tried to think how to answer the question without saying precisely the wrong thing. _‘Because I want to feel your hands on me’_ most _certainly_ was _the wrong thing,_ he suspected. “You’re the warrior, Commander. I would imagine I’d trust my weight to your strength sooner than you’d trust yours to mine, I imagine.”

Cullen chuckled. “Hardly,” he told Dorian, leaning forward as if to make sure nothing had happened to the floor below. “I’d say all that traveling around with Cadash has really strengthened your physique.”

That made Dorian eyebrows rise. _Oh?_ “I hadn’t realized--” His voice trailed off as a vague memory penetrated the warm glow of Cullen’s _noticing_ any changes in Dorian’s body. “Wait. Cadash. Cullen, try to remember. What was the last thing you did last night?”

“Well, assuming we’ve only been here one night,” Cullen groused as he settled back on his heels, “then last night would have been… let’s see, cards with Varric and Cadash.”

“Ah, you didn’t invite the lovely Josephine along?” Dorian asked teasingly.

Cullen flushed slightly. “No, thank you. I rather like to keep my dignity intact, and the tavern is… quite a bit further from here than where Varric held that _other_ game.”

“Ah, yes, that _other game,”_ Dorian mused, letting his eyes travel down Cullen’s body. “Pity Varric’s not arranged another game. I found that evening _quite_ delightful.”

Cullen narrowed his eyes and turned his head so he could regard Dorian. “So what about last night?” he reminded Dorian.

 _Right._ Pulling his mind back to the present, Dorian nodded. “Ah, yes! Do you remember the card game last night?”

Cullen closed his eyes to concentrate. “I… think so. My head--” He shook his head. “I think… I think it began with an argument.”

* * *

“No way am I letting you bet silver, your Inquisitorialness,” Varric protested as Aeddric pushed forward two silver coins into the ante. “You may not be Josephine, but I’m also no idiot. And if it’s one thing I _do_ know, it’s _never bet silver or gold when the Carta is involved.”_

Aeddric laughed with that deep, easy laugh of his. “I’m hardly _the Carta,_ Varric. Not anymore.”

“Yeah, but the whole reason we started having these card games was so Curly could learn how to play against an Antivan without losing his smalls again,” Varric pointed out.

“I’m _right here,”_ grated Cullen.

“I know you are,” Varric said with a sly grin, “but that doesn’t change the fact that the first time you went up against Josephine, your sausage and nuggins nearly got flash frozen on the way back to your quarters.” Varric put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, grinning at Cullen.

“I think it’s time we started treating the Commander like an adult,” Aeddric countered. “I mean, he’s certainly tall enough to be one.” The bright blue of the Inquisitor’s eye vanished behind his dark, tattooed eyelid as he winked at Cullen. “Besides, you never know. He might actually win.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Cullen noted sarcastically.

“Oh, he’s not _that_ bad,” Varric said as he leaned forward again. “All right, how about this: instead of using silver, we’ll stick to coppers, and loser buys the next round of drinks. That’d be cheaper, wouldn’t it? And it’s not like you’re paying him enough.”

Aeddric’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you implying I’m stingy with my own advisor’s pay?”

“Military commanders never get paid enough,” Varric shot back. “Especially those who work for a good cause.”

“Careful, Varric, you’re slipping,” Aeddric laughed as he switched out his silver coins for copper. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Would I do that, your Inquisitorialness?” Varric asked innocently.

Since the proposed plan seemed to indeed save his pocket from being utterly emptied, Cullen simply went along with it. Predictably, he _did_ buy the first two rounds, but then Varric had a run of bad luck and bought the next three. Of course, the buyer picked the drink, and Varric tended to favor Free Marchers Ale - which was stronger than the Fereldan brew Cullen normally favored. After five rounds, Cullen was beginning to wonder if the tavern was _really_ on such solid ground after all… “Maybe it’s time to call it a night,” he murmured, blinking at his cards in an attempt to figure out why he had a card with twice as many pointy bits on it as there should be.

“One more round,” Aeddric countered with that almost sinister laugh of his. “I want my perfect night of no losses to be six rounds. That’s my favorite number, you know.”

“Riiiight,” Cullen said with a sigh, but didn’t see the harm in it. “Sixsh it is then.”

So they played the round, and… incredibly, Aeddric _lost._ The dwarf scowled furiously at his cards as Varric chortled. “You know the rules, buddy boy. You gotta abide by them.”

With a grunt, Aeddric stood. “All right, but you both have to actually _drink_ it. Fair’s fair, even if Varric cheats.” Then he stalked to the bar.

“I do _not_ cheat!” Varric called after him, but the smug little smirk on his face indicated otherwise, especially when he added softly, “You have to be caught to be a cheater.”

Though it took a bit longer to get the drinks back to the table, when they did, it wasn’t beer or ale. “Drink up,” Aeddric said as he sat down with the three glasses. “Antivan brandy on me.”

Varric picked up his glass, then looked at Cullen. “You sure about this?”

“I’ll be fine,” Cullen insisted, snagging his glass. “I know what I’m doing.”

“All together then?” Aeddric asked, lifting his drink. “To the Inquisition!”

Cullen smiled as they clinked their glasses together. Aeddric was such a… such a _wonderful_ Inquisitor, he really was. “To the Inquisition!” They all emptied their glasses, but Cullen had a frown on his face when he put his down. “That didn’t taste… quite right.”

“Oh?” Varric asked, looking into his empty glass. “Seemed fine to me.”

Aeddric, meanwhile, had stood and circled around to stand behind Cullen, as if waiting for something, but Cullen only peripherally noticed. “Yeah,” Cullen said. “It tasted… a bit…”

And then the world went black.

* * *

* * *

Inquisitor Aeddric Cadash (for the curious):


	3. The Lion's Smirk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst figuring out how to get out of their predicament, Dorian can't help but remember what had brought them here in the first place.

“And that’s all I remember,” Cullen confessed, then blinked. “You don’t think… No, no, surely not the _Inquisitor,_ too!”

“He and Bull are thick as thieves these days,” Dorian pointed out, idly smoothing his fingertips over the tiny bit of hair on his chin. “And Cadash, for all his  _mostly_ good deeds lately, is still very much a rogue. A rogue who puts all others to shame, really.”

“Yes, but… no, surely he wouldn’t drug his own Commander in some sort of absurd bid at… at…” He paused, moistening his lips as he tried to think of any way to describe the situation without actually confronting it, then shook his head and abandoned the sentence. “And what about you?”

“I? I wandered into the tavern last night and found the Inquisitor alone and needing someone to talk to. He even poured his soul out to me about how Iron Bull seemed to be oblivious to his advances.” Dorian sighed and shook his head. “I should have  _known_ it was a setup, especially when he bought us a round of Antivan brandy. He never pays for  _anyone_ but himself.”

Cullen groaned and slapped his hand over his face. “This is getting out of hand,” he groaned. “We obviously need to talk to the Inquisitor, but more importantly, to Bull.” His frown was glorious by this point, and he stared down at the spot where the ladder should have been with the fury of the Lion which most in Skyhold had taken to calling him. “But before we do any of  _that,_ we need to get down from here.”

Dorian shrugged and pushed himself off the bed, then crouched at the edge of the platform upon which it rested. With a firm grip of the edge, he leaned over. “It can’t be more than… No, no, I can’t even  _pretend_ to be willing to jump.” Standing, he carefully stepped back from the edge and turned to Cullen. “I wouldn’t even want to chance dangling, honestly. I’m a mage, after all. I should be cuddled and pampered, not--”

“--sent out to gallivant all over the countryside, yes. We’ve all heard the complaints, Dorian.” Cullen’s tone was irritated, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly with obvious amusement. “Honestly, you’re not  _that_ badly off, especially for a mage. I worked in two different Circles, you know. The typical mage is scrawny and out of breath after ten steps.”

“Whereas I am brawny and can run up the stairs to the library in no time flat?” Dorian asked with a laugh. “Why,  _Commander,_ I never dreamed you were paying such particular attention to my physique. I’m flattered and touched to have been awarded your scrutiny. A shame you didn’t make it more obvious, I could have exposed more of it. Oh wait!” He lifted his arms to cross them over his bare chest. “Iron Bull did that for me.”

“What? No!” Cullen took a quick step back and glared at Dorian - possibly in an attempt to hide the hint of pink on the pale skin of his neck and ears.

“Oh, it’s perfectly understandable that you  _would_ scrutinize _,_ of course,” Dorian said airily, unrelenting. “I  _am_ the result of generations of careful inbreeding for a perfect body, among other things. And of course, you were the first one at Haven to get your hands on me.”

“You were exhausted and falling over,” Cullen grated through his teeth.

_Ah, and so does the pink deepens to red. Quite satisfying_ .“And there you were, happy to help me back to my feet.” He glanced down at his arms, then lifted his left arm to flex it unabashedly, tautening his muscles. “You know, I think you’re right. I  _have_ improved. Comes with all that gallivanting around the countryside, I suppose.” Glancing at Cullen from the corner of his eyes, Dorian noticed with a twitch of his lips that Cullen was looking precisely where Dorian wanted him to look: the arm that was always free whilst in Skyhold. “I’m impressed, Commander. And here all this time I thought you were only studying my  _strategy_ during our chess matches.”

Cullen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After two or three of them, and some subtle shifting of his body, he opened them again. “Dorian--” he began, then took a breath.

“Yes, Commander?” Dorian said, tone halfway between joking and hopeful.

“Can we please stop talking about your… your  _physique_ and figure out how to get down from here?” Cullen asked, tone almost plaintive.

“Of course, Commander.” Dorian sat at the edge of the bed, carefully sprawled without appearing to be  _deliberately_ sprawled. “Ready when you are.”  _Oh, Maker, I wish that weren’t so applicable for more than just getting me off this platform._

Cullen nodded, though Dorian noted that the man carefully avoided looking in the mage’s direction while he considered the limited space they had to work in. “Right. Come here,” he commanded, holding out his hand.

_Any time, Commander._ Dorian quickly shushed his inner voice and instead replied, “Yes,  _ser,”_ in an overly exaggerated  _soldier_ voice as he stood and put his hand in the other man’s grip.  _My word, those calluses feel lovely. I wonder how they’d feel on other places…_ “What’s the plan?”

Cullen considered the matter - while holding Dorian’s hand, the mage noted - as he scrutinized the drop. “There’s more room over here,” he said as he pulled Dorian after him along the edge of the platform. “I think we should-- Careful.” That admonishment was for Dorian, since Cullen’s rather precipitous halt meant the mage almost crashed into him. “We don’t have that much space up here.”

“I know. Delicious, isn’t it?” Dorian said cheerfully.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered. “Dorian, this isn’t the time for flirting!”

“Oh, what a pity,” Dorian breathed with mock sorrow. “Do tell me when it  _is_ time, would you? I have so many pithy phrases prepared.”

Abruptly Cullen pulled Dorian close, wrapping his arm tightly around the mage’s waist, and for the first time, Dorian noticed that he was actually a bit taller than the Commander. “Any time but now,” the man said as he met Dorian’s gaze, then abruptly turned before Dorian could do more than respond with an undignified gasp. The mage found his feet dangled over the edge, pressed chest to chest with Cullen, whose expression was  _completely_ a mystery now, especially that…  _Was that a smirk?_ And then  _that_ memory rose, treacherously, dredged from the depths where Dorian had driven it down - the whole damned reason this had all started.

Naturally, it had started with an argument.

* * *

“He should not even  _be_ here, Commander!”

Dorian paused in the act of turning the page in his book, head cocked as he heard the  _discussion_ waft up from the rotunda below. Normally, of course, Solas haunted the round room below the library, but this week he and the Inquisitor - along with the Inquisitor’s personal favorites, Iron Bull and Cassandra - were exploring some elven ruins in the Exalted Plains. Or maybe in the Emerald Graves - it was hard to keep track, honestly. Wherever there were ruins, however, there was treasure - or so went Aeddric’s logic. When they were elvish in nature, Solas was traveling. When they were of Tevinter origin, Dorian was pulled from his comfortable chair and shoved into the cold or heat, since it seemed invariably to be one or the other wherever the Inquisitor chose to drag him.

The voice below was a familiar one - a constant thorn in his side, in fact. It was no secret that Mother Giselle mistrusted him, even going so far as to try to get the Inquisitor to arrange for Dorian’s father to ambush him and take him back to the Imperium. When that had failed, her methods had grown more widespread, since, it appeared, the Inquisitor was firmly on Dorian’s side. But going after the Commander?

_That’s a new one,_ Dorian thought in resignation as he let his head fall back against the chair.

“He has as much a right to join and aid the Inquisition as every other Jim and Jill who’s traveled hundreds of miles to be here, Revered Mother,” Cullen said firmly.

_Bless the little soldier,_ Dorian thought idly, though he’d expect nothing less from their resident upstanding Lion of Ferelden, even if he and Cullen had exchanged  _words_ more than once starting as far back as Haven.

“And yet, he has managed to garner quite a bit of influence with the Inquisitor,” Giselle persisted. “Surely he would not have done so without a purpose.”

“You mean our dwarvish Carta Inquisitor pays attention when someone from the Imperium advises him on Tevinter matters?” Cullen asked in a pointed voice. “I’m astonished, Revered Mother. What a foolish thing for the Inquisitor to do.”

Dorian turned his head to stare at the railing.  _That’s… a far more irritated tone than I would have expected._ A little smile came to his face.  _I’m not used to someone actually defending me. It’s oddly flattering,_ he realized, touched.

“It goes beyond that, as you are well aware, Commander. He is a dwarf, not raised in the arms of the Chantry, and yet he is the Herald of Andraste,” Giselle argued. “It is a very bad idea for him to rely too much in any matter on the words of someone from the northern Chantry.”

“Are we talking about the same Inquisitor?” Cullen asked, humor now edging his voice. “The same one who, when asked if he was the Herald of Andraste, replied with  _‘Sod off?’”_

Dorian bit back a laugh.  _Oh, yes, that sounds like Aeddric, all right,_ he thought with a private chuckle. He was growing quite fond of their short-heighted, short-tempered Inquisitor, he had to admit.

“I thought you were a dutiful son of the Chantry, Commander,” Giselle said, a hint of reproach in her tone.

“I  _am_ a dutiful son of the Chantry, Revered Mother, but you would find quite a few within its ranks who would vehemently disagree. The list didn’t end with Chancellor Roderick, rest his soul. I abandoned my post, and they haven’t forgotten.” Dorian heard Cullen heave a sigh. “Is that all? I have a report to deliver to Leliana, and I’d rather not dally overlong.”

“That is all, Commander. Thank you for your time.” There was the sound of rustling clothing as Giselle bowed, followed by the sound of heavy boots climbing the stairs.

Dorian started up from his seat, emerging from his alcove to smile at the warrior as he reached the top of the stairs. “Good day, Commander.”

Cullen grimaced. “I suppose you heard that whole unfortunate exchange?”

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty blonde head about it,” Dorian assured him with a forced chuckle. “I’m quite used to hearing such lovely, convincing arguments against my very existence. I am the  _evil Tevinter magister_ , after all,” he said, wiggling his fingers in the air for effect.

“Oh, yes, quite evil. So evil you can’t cheat your way to win a chess match,” Cullen replied in a bland tone.

Dorian clasped his hand to his chest. “Commander! I am quite hurt, to my very marrow and soul! Are you insinuating I  _cheat?”_

“No insinuations are necessary when you’re so bad at it,” Cullen pointed out, with a…

Dorian blinked, then grinned. “Commander, is that a  _smirk_ I see on your face?”

“A smirk? I most strongly protest to such an allegation,” Cullen told Dorian sternly. “I cannot in good conscience allow it to be more than a mildly knowing smile.”

“A thousand apologies not to know the difference,” Dorian said after a chuckle he couldn’t quite hold in. “I shall keep that in mind lest I mistake any future sightings of the rare and mythical Smirk of the Lion for something that could actually happen in Skyhold.”

Cullen cleared his throat and looked aside, obviously trying not to laugh. “You do that, Dorian.” Craning his neck, he looked towards the upper level, a grimace coming to his face. “Maker’s breath, why does she have to roost with the birds?” Dropping his gaze back to Dorian, he said, “I do need to get this report to Leliana personally, though. Let me know if Giselle persists, would you? Perhaps Sera and I can come up with something to put her off.”

Disarmed by the words, Dorian offered Cullen a genuine smile. “That’s a marvelous offer, Commander. And here I am with nothing to offer in return.”  _Not even an amulet,_ he thought with a passing sadness. “Aside from my undying gratitude, I don’t suppose you’d accept a kiss?” he teased.

Cullen immediately coughed, hand rising to rub at his neck as his ears turned a shade or two darker. “Ah, no, thank you.”

“Pity. I  _know_ Sera won’t want one,” Dorian said with a sigh. “Well, Commander, don’t let me detain you,” he said with an elaborate gesture and a bow. “On your way, up, up the stairs!”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Cullen said in a slightly strained voice, and quickly nodded to the mage before continuing on his way around the railing. It wasn’t until he disappeared from sight that Dorian realized he’d watched the man walk the entire way.

Quickly Dorian pivoted and walked quickly back to his chair.  _Oh, dear._ No.  _No, no, not him. Silly mage. That one won’t want a_ once _, much less want an_ after _._ _Don’t go there._

He presented such a  _delicious_ view, though, wrapped around such a marvelously beautiful heart…

_No._

With a sigh, Dorian returned to reading his book. Oddly, he didn’t turn the page for a long time, glancing up every time someone came down the stairs from above.


	4. Maker's Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never underestimate the Lion of Ferelden.

“Dorian?”

The mage blinked, abruptly realizing that his feet were no longer dangling in the air, since Cullen had turned to set him back on the platform. He also realized that it wasn’t the first time the other man had said his name,  _and_ that he had a concerned look on his face. Offering a smile that was nervous for only a moment before he set it into a mask of affability, Dorian cleared his throat hastily. “Ah, Commander. My apologies, I was… distracted.”

“This is hardly the time for daydreams,” Cullen told him, tone mildly reproachful.

“Well, I suppose I have very bad timing in all sorts of ways,” Dorian said. Before Cullen could respond, Dorian tipped his head forward and let a slow, sultry smile slide onto his face as he murmured, “I notice you haven’t let go of me yet.”

Cullen’s eyes flickered down to regard Dorian’s lips for a split second, and Dorian felt the strong arm tighten ever so slightly around his waist. “No, I haven’t,” he agreed in a soft voice, then looked up and met Dorian’s gaze.

“And why is that, Commander?” he wondered artlessly.

“Efficiency,” Cullen told him with a sudden severity which, judging by the ever so slight curve at the corner of his mouth and the minute lift of one eyebrow, was facetious. “As soon as your mind has returned to more important matters, we’ll try again. Why waste time by letting you go?”

Dorian chuckled. “Indeed, Commander. One does not become the leader of the Inquisition forces by promoting unnecessary expenditures of energy! Why, Cassandra would have to whip you into shape if you dared to-- to-- Ah.” Dorian's eyebrow arched sharply, and his head half-turned as he felt Cullen’s arm shift down his back. “And now you’re… improving your strategic position?” he asked as the broad hand came to rest on his hip.

_“Tactical_ position,” Cullen corrected Dorian reproachfully. “Remember what I told you about tactics versus strategy? And here I thought you were actually paying attention to my  _tactics_ during our chess matches.”

Dorian paused, regarding Cullen with slightly narrowed eyes. He knew that Cullen knew perfectly well that  _Dorian_ knew the difference between the two concepts. The admonition was so subtly playful that he decided to go along with it. “Oh, come now, Commander. Everyone knows that only pedants persist in this peculiar notion that there is a difference.”

“Oh, really?” Cullen asked, eyebrows rising - and Dorian’s breath caught as the man’s hand began to slowly move lower again. “You realize that this is why you have to cheat, you know - your belief that the greatest benefit comes from short-term gain.” And, again,  _maddeningly,_ the hand stopped, just shy of dropping down over a body part which was a bit more  _rounded_ than Dorian’s hip-bone.

Licking at suddenly dry lips, Dorian argued, “But surely you would agree, Commander, that short-term gain frequently leads to a sense of triumph nonetheless? Why shouldn’t the journey be just as important as the destination?”

“A good Commander cannot afford such dilly-dallying when the stakes are victory or defeat,” Cullen pointed out. “After all, what good does it do to gain victory in a skirmish if the overall struggle is lost?”

Dorian tilted his head slightly, just enough that his mouth drew a bit closer to Cullen’s face. “Not all struggles  _have_ to be won, Commander. Sometimes the best  _tactics_ and the worst  _strategy_ lead to the best overall results - from a personal perspective, of course.”

Cullen grunted, which, given their proximity, really only had the effect of ensuring that Dorian could feel the warrior’s taut abdomen press against him firmly for a moment. “I would rather think the opposite would be more important in most campaigns,” he argued. “It’s a risky business, sacrificing a good strategy in favor of a small triumph. Employing tactics chosen deliberately to lose? Risky, very risky. I’m not sure I could do it.”

“But what if the ultimate victory is a false prize?” Dorian countered, not even sure what he was arguing  _for_ \- all he really wanted was another reaction from Cullen. “What if, in fact, the win in the immediate time frame was of greater benefit than--” He paused as he felt something strong and hard slide down to squeeze his buttock. “Ah, than… than an unknown future victory?” he managed, then swallowed harshly. “Even the Inquisition has had its setbacks which turned out to be better for it in the long run,” he managed weakly. “We would have no Skyhold without losing Haven, even if the losses were horrific.”

Cullen’s fingers loosened their grip, then started to drum on the muscles as the man considered Dorian’s argument. “Point,” he finally conceded, “but not one I prefer to dwell upon.”

_Maker, that feels so good for how little touching is actually involved._ Straining  _not_ to flex the muscle under question every time Cullen tapped his fingers there, Dorian dared to lean in against Cullen. “My apologies,” he offered. “Of course, if you wish to dwell upon a different  _point_ entirely…” He left the suggestion hanging in the air as his hips rolled forward ever so slightly. He moved his gaze deliberately to look at Cullen’s lips for a moment, then looked up into those soft brown eyes once more. “I’m sure we could find an alternative.”

He  _felt_ Cullen’s breathing shift, quickening ever so slightly as the tapping paused. Then the fingers came together to squeeze - or  _fondle_ , as Dorian preferred to think of it - once more, and Cullen’s other hand rose to hesitantly land on Dorian’s shoulder. “A good Commander always ensures he has flexible tactics in any situation,” he murmured, close enough that his breath fell hot against Dorian’s lips.

“And you are a  _very_ good Commander,” Dorian said encouragingly. “The best I’ve ever met, in fact.”

Finally a smile broke on Cullen’s face. “Is that so?” he asked, the question allowing for the barest contact of skin touching skin as their lips slowly drew closer.

“Indubitably,” Dorian whispered, eyelids fluttering closed--

\--just as a loud knocking came at the door. “Commander Cullen!” an  _all too familiar voice_ called through the door. “Message from Leliana, Commander!”

Cullen swore roundly but softly under his breath, and the look on his face as he released Dorian and stomped to the edge of the platform to yell at the unfortunate messenger could really only be described as a  _murderous_ _glare._ “Inform Leliana that I am indisposed,” he called down.

“But ser!” the voice protested.

“Did I not just give you an order, Jim?” Cullen demanded in a harsh tone.

There was a clunk on the door, and then Jim replied, “Ser, yes ser, Commander Cullen ser!” The sound of boots hitting the bridge outside of Cullen’s quarters quickly faded into the distance, and Cullen turned back to Dorian.

“I say, it’s a good thing he didn’t try to open the--” And that was as far as Dorian got before Cullen pushed him back onto the bed and lowered himself on top of the mage. The move took Dorian by surprise, and he couldn’t help but gasp as Cullen’s lips found his own. After that, he wasn’t sure if it was the warrior’s moan or that little roll of the hips that charmed him more, but in the end, what really mattered was the kiss.

His eyes shut, and Dorian let himself fall into the glory of the moment as time melted away. The scratchiness of the stubble, that little notch in his upper lip, the sheer  _earnestness_ of the kiss itself - Dorian was quickly breathless. No one had ever kissed him that way, not truly. This was not the kiss of a man who would fuck him and leave him, or tease him into a tizzy before laughing and walking out the door. Cullen…  _yes,_ his thoughts whispered to him.  _That’s why you dream of him, isn’t it? Cullen would only do this if he wants an_ after.

The thought warmed him, making him shift his hips unconsciously as the thought of a possible  _after_ with the man moved him as much, if not more, than the kiss. When those lips moved on - up to trace the line of his mustache, then down to nibble and tease at that little tuft of hair below Dorian's now swollen lower lip before gliding over the curve of his chin to nuzzle at his neck - Dorian found his hands buried in the blond hair. “C-Cullen,” he gasped.

“Hush,” Cullen murmured against his skin. “Let me learn you. I’m still planning my strategy.”

_Maker._ “Are you saying,” Dorian teased in a voice that was thankfully deeper and a touch husked, “that my tactics were successful in gaining me a short-term advantage, despite your lack of faith in them?”

Cullen chuckled, sending a vibration through Dorian that made his eyelids flutter slightly. “Oh, I assure you, the final victory will be mine.”

Dorian’s breath hitched as Cullen’s lips began to explore even farther, moving down his torso.  _Surely he wouldn’t… I must be the first…_ His thoughts scattered like little jewels and danced in his head as he felt a hand land on his knee and slowly begin to trace a path up his inner thigh.

Both of the men on the bed suddenly started when the platform under them shook as a loud  _thunk_ echoed in the room. Confused, the men exchanged a glance, then looked over to the edge of the bed as a series of grunting sounds could be heard getting higher and closer.

Abruptly Iron Bull’s head appeared, causing both men to separate and push themselves into a sitting position with cleared throats and hands smoothing through their hair. Only then could they see that the ladder had been heaved back into place with Iron Bull’s arms wrapped around the top of it. A huge grin split the Qunari’s face as he looked between the mage and the ex-Templar. “Look,” he said, “will you just get on with it already? I’ve got ten gold riding on which of you rides the other guy first!”

“Don’t believe him, it’s only five!” the Inquisitor’s voice called from below.

The argument began soon after that.


	5. Was There Ever Any Doubt?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure, unmitigated fluff. Enjoy.

“They did _not!”_ Cassandra gasped, a horrified yet delighted reaction accompanied by a sound that _might_ have been characterised as a giggle had it been anyone else who made it. “Iron Bull _and_ the Inquisitor?”

Cullen nodded as he sipped his beer - a good, solid Fereldan brew drawn by his own two hands. “Drugged us, stripped us half-naked, and threw us into bed together. A ‘date’, Iron Bull called it. I suppose given what you and I saw between him and Aeddric that one time, I should be grateful they didn’t tie one or both of us up.” Cullen thought about it. “Or strip us half-naked the _other_ way.”

Cassandra pressed a hand over her mouth, obviously doing her best to suppress laughter. “You never told me this before! I am quite wroth with you, Cullen. This is better than anything Varric could have written.”

Predictably, even after all these years, Cullen’s face reddened a bit, highlighting the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Yes, well, Varric still being at Skyhold at the time was a large part of the reason I _didn’t_ tell you. The man has an infernal habit of picking up gossip he has no business to, and-- Well…”

“And he already had enough fodder on you and Dorian after that Wicked Grace game,” Cassandra noted with a fond smile. “You were hardly subtle, Commander. No man who plays chess as well as you do could possibly lose that spectacularly in cards, even against an Antivan.”

“Dorian still thinks I lost to Josephine fair and square. And if you tell him any differently--” Cullen added, raising his finger in mock warning.

“Don’t worry, Cullen,” Cassandra said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Your secrets are safe with me, I promise you. They always have been, as well you know.”

Cullen smiled, then reached out and took her hand in a gentle squeeze, aware that the pain in her joints grew worse with every passing year. “I know, Cassandra. You have my thanks.”

Her hand turned over and wrapped around his, as unselfconscious in the motion as only the best of old friends could be. “It was a brilliant set of tactics, I must admit. No one would expect you, of all people, to accept defeat in the short-term to gain the advantage in the long-term.”

The comment brought a broad smile to Cullen’s lips even as he held up a finger and corrected her with a wink. _“Strategy,_ Cassandra. Just the first step in a winning strategy.”

Cassandra laughed. “If you insist,” She drank the last bit of her wine, then carefully stood. She moved less easily these days, though the years fell on her gracefully. The few grey hairs on her head dated back to early years of the Inquisition, and when Cassandra was in the best of moods, she could point to each one and declare which of Aeddric’s decisions had caused which streak of grey. As it was, she seemed a handsome woman who had survived most of four decades, not someone approaching her sixth decade of life. “It was good to see you again, Cullen. Give Dorian my regards, will you?”

“Of course, Lady Seeker,” Cullen said as he stood and bowed. “As always.”

* * *

Dorian looked up as the knock came at the front door and smiled. Setting aside the book in his lap, he rose from his chair and called out, _“Coming!”_ When he opened the door, he wasn’t at all surprised to find a special courier on his doorstep, complete with the ubiquitous badge of the Inquisition on his arm.

“Message for you, ser!” the man said, thrusting out a sealed envelope.

 _Ah, Aeddric, still abusing the privileges of the Inquisitor’s position, I see._ Dorian nodded to the courier. “Thank you, my good man.” Plucking the package - clearly addressed to _Inquisitor Aeddric Cadash -_ which sat waiting on the table next to the door, he handed it to the messenger. “Here is my response for the Inquisitor.”

“Yes, ser! Thank you, ser!” The courier saluted, then pivoted and dashed away before Dorian could say anything else.

Dorian smiled, then looked down at the envelope, knowing what he’d find written upon it, written in Iron Bull’s strong, unmistakable writing.

_To Dorian Rutherford, From Me_

The name _still_ sent a thrill through him. Without opening the envelope, he pressed it to his chest and sighed happily, closing his eyes as he thought of the past few years.

“What, Bull’s letter arrived already?” came a voice from the doorstep.

Dorian’s eyes flew open, startled, and he found Cullen standing just outside the still open door, a grin on his handsome face. With a smile, Dorian stepped forward into his husband’s arms and squeezed him tightly. “Yes, it did, Amatus,” he said, then plucked a kiss from those beautiful lips. “It _is_ our anniversary, after all.”

“True.” Cullen pulled him abruptly close, drawing him into a deeper, more lingering kiss, and for a moment, it was as if they were back in Skyhold again, half-naked on a bed with the sunlight caressing their skin. Then the moment passed, and they pulled apart so they could enter the house. “I admit, I did reconsider going to see Cassandra when I got her letter, if only because of the timing.”

“Now, now, you know how important it is that you saw her,” Dorian said. “She was the one who held your head above that blue liquid until I got there.”

Cullen grimaced, then sighed heavily. “The one time Aeddric truly let me down,” he murmured softly.

Dorian drew Cullen down to sit on the couch next to him. “I’m here, Amatus. I’ll protect you.”

“I know. It’s one of the reasons I love you, even after all this time.”

The kiss that followed those words led to two, then three, and after that to clothes flung onto the floor. The letter was forgotten until much later, after the now-naked men had moved to the bedroom to complete their reunion amidst the soft silk and warm woolens that Dorian insisted upon. As they lay entwined on the bed, Cullen pressed a kiss to Dorian’s temple and mumbled, “We should probably open that letter.”

Dorian blinked sleepily, then chuckled. “Ah, yes.” A thought and a furrowed brow fetched the envelope with a slip of magic, and he looked at the name upon the envelope with a smile once more on his face. “Dorian Rutherford. However did I let you talk me into taking such a rustic name? Oh, yes, that’s right, because I love you.” Gone were the days when Dorian could only express his emotions by pre-emptively downplaying them or pretending they didn’t exist at all. That had been a hard-fought battle for both of them, but Cullen was a warrior. And obstinate, to boot.

“I honestly can’t think of a better reason,” Cullen said with a chuckle as he kissed Dorian’s hair. His hand reached up to lightly touch the amulet around his neck, acquired after a rather thorough browbeating of a certain merchant in Val Royeaux, and he smiled. “Go on, open it.”

“We both know what it says,” Dorian pointed out as he broke the seal and pulled the envelope open.

“It’s still amusing,” Cullen said with a chuckle.

Sure enough, when Dorian pulled the paper out and unfolded it, they found the same four words that Iron Bull sent them every year, and likely would for years to come.

_I told you so._

“He is never going to let us forget it, is he?” Dorian mused as he set the envelope and letter aside and snuggled close to Cullen.

“Does it matter?” the ex-Templar and ex-Commander asked softly, pulling the mage close.

“Hmm, no, I suppose not.” Dorian’s fingers reached up and stroked the pendant which hung around his neck, an old, simple coin that meant more than all the treasure in the world. “I have what truly matters, Amatus.”

“As do I,” Cullen murmured.

With a contented sigh and one more gentle kiss, the men fell asleep, comforted by the knowledge they would awaken in the arms of the one they loved most in the world.


End file.
